[Oneshot! Yeah! I'll have more SessKag up ASAP but today the infinite word-hole in my chest demanded MirSan. So here you go! I own nothing. Enjoy!]
Miroku and Sango were very different people. Sango was quiet, not shy, but not outgoing either, while Miroku spoke to every person (correction: woman) he met with great enthusiasm and warmth. Sango loved to read, while Miroku really couldn't care less about his studies. And for someone trying to earn his doctorate, he'd gotten quite far without studying. When Sango was angry, it was an explosion, followed by days of silent fury. When Miroku got angry, he let as much out as he could, and then bottled up the rest. That was just who they were.
And sometimes, when faced with large problems, or when they got into arguments, those differences were clearer to see.
But for now, it was quiet. They lounged on the couch together, Miroku watching late night TV while Sango studied diligently beside him, tucked in the crook of his arm.
"Sango," he whined, "I'm bored. Put the book down and talk to me."
She laughed, her voice sounding tired, "In a minute Miroku."
He glanced over her shoulder, "Ancient mythology? Your test isn't for another week!"
She looked up at him, not closing the book, "How did you know that?"
"You've marked every single test on the calendar," he deadpanned.
"Yeah, well... this is an important one."
"Sango," he whispered, "Come on, please."
Sighing in defeat, she set the book down carefully, marking her page with an old receipt she found on the coffee table.
"Only for you," she whispered, snuggling closer to him with a tired sigh. He bent down and kissed her forehead, breathing in the fruity scent of her damp hair.
He bent down and kissed her forehead, breathing in the fruity scent of her damp hair. Quietly, he leaned further to kiss the tip of her nose. She giggled softly and turned so that she could plant her lips softly against his. She pulled away with a tired smile and leaned against him again, focusing on the TV again.
"I love you so much," he whispered in her ear.
"Love you too," she murmured, kissing the underside of his jaw lightly and looking back at the TV.
Miroku yawned and rearranged himself so that he was laying on her lap, his legs hanging off the other end of the couch from the knees down. He turned his eyes to the TV, blinking sleepily as his eyelids got heavier. Maybe it was the softness of Sango's pajama pants, or the darkness of the room, but whatever the case, he found himself drifting off.
"G'night Sango," he managed.
"Night," she whispered.
She rubbed an affectionate hand through his dark hair, hanging loose instead of being in its usual ponytail. She hummed softly to herself as she picked up her book again. It was times like these when she could forget that they were different. Because at times like this, it was so peaceful that she could almost see them together as one person, one soul. Because, in a way, they were.
[I'm so sorry it's 3AM I don't fricken know anymore.]